Murtagh I shall wait
by kwapikwapisz
Summary: This story takes place before Murtagh finds Eragon, and is about his meeting a special someone . . . So this is dedicated to all you omantics out there, like me:  *I know that the timeing for this story is really, really off but hey, it's fanfiction!


Murtagh sighed as he reined in Tornac, his dappled gray war horse, rubbing exhaustion from his dark eyes. They had been traveling all day, but now the sun had turned a brilliant bright pink, setting the trees ablaze with magnificent colors as it set behind the forest down in the valley. Murtagh looked around at the scenery that he could see through the thin outline of the trees they were inside, and something caught his eyes. He pushed Tornac outside of the trees into a clearing on a hill to take a better look at what had caught his curiosity. It was smoke, and by the look of its density came from chimneys in a small village. Murtagh hesitated before asking Tornac to break into a trot, and riding for the village. He was unsure wether or not this would be a wise decision, how could he be sure that the soldiers wouldn't be waiting for him, even if this was only small worthless country village? But he was tired of sleeping on the wet leave strewn ground with rocks for pillows, and spiders for company. So he rode on.

As he was nearing the first of the houses he saw someone walking up the path pulling a cart. When he got closer he saw it was a girl of about his young age, and she bore the muscles of hard labor.

"Excuse me," Murtagh leveled Tornac beside the girls cart. " Do you know where would I find the inn?" The girl stopped and turned to him. She had lush dark brown waist length hair, a tanned pleasant face that made her blueish green eyes stand out. Trying to be modest Murtagh couldn't help notice she had a very nice figure, that was emphasized by her brown leggings, and dark green tunic with a cracked leather belt that wrapped around her slim waist.

"Aye, follow this road till you come to the center of the town, but good luck finding a room." She had a sweet even voice, though her eyes were hard. Murtagh saw her hand draw up to her belt, and was sure there was a knife there.

"Why will it be difficult?"

"Because people here don't take kindly to strangers. So unless your a family member of someone here, or you have been to this village before I suggest you don't show your hooded head inside that inn." Murtagh bowed his head a little. He had worn the hood ever since he had escaped from Galbatorix's palace, and he was hesitant in taking it off. When he looked up the girl was staring at him, her look was curious, yet sharp, and there was an odd look of pity.

"Do you know of anywhere I would find lodging?"

"You had better come with me." She grasped the handles of her cart, and started down the path again with Murtagh fallowing her. Right before entering the main village, the girl turned down a narrow dirt path lined with saplings. As they walked the trees grew older and thicker, until they came to a small clearing with forest surrounding them.

Murtagh halted Tornac, looking around him. They were standing in a small neatly kept farmyard with a little hut, and two small barns. Chickens roamed around the yard, scratching in the dirt for dinner, their little fuzzy young tailing them. Tethered to the wall of the barn closest was a black and brown goat, he grazed contentedly as a couple gray kitten tumbled about at his feet. Also there was a cow with a calf at her side loose in the yard, grazing as her young one explored. Next to the farthest barn was a paddock where Murtagh saw five impressive horses grazing.

The girl had set her cart outside one of the barns and was beaconing to Murtagh. Murtagh dismounted leading Tornac to the girl.

"If you wish you may stay here. You and your horse will have lodging, but if you don't wish this I suggest you don't enter the village for it will be a wast of time." As she spoke this the girl stroked Tornac gleaming neck. Murtagh was taken aback by the girls offer, but still agreed.

"Thank you for your hospitably, though I don't know your name."

"Celia. Yours is . . .?" Murtagh thought of giving a false name, but didn't see the point.

"Murtagh. Why do you take me in when the rest of the village is so adverse to strangers?" Celia looked at him for a moment pondering.

"Because I know how it feels to be a stranger. Not to know anybody and to be rejected."

"Do you live here with your parents?"

"My parents died when I was young, I live alone." Murtagh looked around the attractive little farm in amazement.

"You keep this farm by yourself?"

"Yes, it's really quite easy because it's so small." Celia stepped forward, taking Tornac's reins from Murtagh and lead him into one of the two barns with Murtagh following.

Inside the barn it was clean, cool, and smelled sweetly of straw. There were four wooden stalls, all cut so that the horses could stick their heads out and inspect what was going on. There was one empty stall, and this is where Celia put Tornac. Murtagh went to Tornac patting him gently as Celia put fresh straw in the manger, and more water in the trough. Murtagh started to untack Tornac, laying the saddle outside the stall, then he checked Tornac all over for saddle sores. Celia was watching him admiration on her face.

"You have a magnificent horse. What's his name?"

"Tornac. He has been faithful to me for many years."

"Well, he shall be happy here. Later he may join the other horses out in the paddock if he wishes." Murtagh thought it interesting how Celia talked as if Tornac could make his own decisions.

"Thank-you. He hasn't had the chance to be other horses for several months." Celia looked like she was going to ask something, but then thought better of it and walked to one of the other stalls peering in at its inhabitant. Curious Murtagh walked over and also looked in. Laying on his bed of straw was a very old black horse. His ribs were showing through his hair matted down with sweat, his eyes had a forlorn look of pain about them and were sunken in to his skull. He looked up at them and uttered a soft nicker, but other then that made no movement. It saddened Murtagh to see this beautiful animal looking so weak and venerable.

"This was my first horse, Brom." Celia's voice was clouded with sadness. "I rode him when I left the house my parents had died in. He no longer can walk, so here he sits waiting to die."

"Is there nothing to be done for him?"

"Not unless you know a potion to take away old age." Celia stepped away from the stall, and walked out of the barn. Murtagh watched her go before returning to Tornac, and taking a handful of the straw rubbed him down, loosing the trapped dirt, then taking a strip of cloth wiped the loose dirt away. As soon as he was done Murtagh lead Tornac outside into the quickly darkening twilight to the pasture and let him go with the other horses to enjoy a night of frolicking and grass. He watched with pleasure as Tornac trotted up to one of the other horses, his tail swishing happily as he nickered to the other horse rearing slightly eager to play. The other horse also rearing took off in a fury of heels, stirring up the other horses till the entire pasture was full of motion and flying hooves. Turning away from the playing animals Murtagh looked about to see Celia standing in the warm glow of the lantern she was holding. Murtagh walked over to her and saw she wore a smile on her lips.

"I love watching the horses run, they're so beautiful and strong." With a sigh Celia turned around, saying,

"I have where you shall sleep ready." Murtagh fallowed her to the little hut, which looked warm and inviting with the smoke curling in strange patterns from the chimney, and the light of the fire pouring out of the door in a long line down the grassy lawn. Inside the hut looked bigger then it had appeared on the outside. It was sparingly furnished with a small solid oak table accompanied by two simply made chairs sitting in the center of the room. A large stone fire place sat in wall farthest from the door ablaze giving the room a cheery look, and making the few pots there were hanging on the wall glint, and glitter. On the other was a very simple wooden cupboard with two drawers set in it. A bed mat sat near to the fireplace, a wool blanket draped over it, with a pillow stuffed with goose feathers at its head. On the other side of the fireplace lay another mat also simply made up.

Celia walked across the dirt floor to the table, setting the lamp down amongst leather bound books, and some scrolls of parchment, then she went to the cupboard. As Celia was preparing something on the counter, Murtagh went to take a look at what it was Celia was reading. He had always loved books, and had a great selection back at the palace, but not many people to talk about what he read with. He was surprised and pleased with the few books she had, as most of them he had read. There were ten or so books, all beat up, their covers torn in places, showing signs of consent use.

"One of my obsessions." Chuckled Celia bringing over a plate of bread slices, and some cheese. She set them on the table, then moved around to stand next to Murtagh looking at the book he was holding. She pointed to the book that Murtagh was holding and as she did their hands met. Drawing back Celia looked up into Murtagh's face. Blushing she quietly said,

"Sorry." She moved back a step still blushing. Murtagh said nothing as he was having a hard time getting the feeling of her soft hands against his out of his head, even if the touch had been brief. From behind him Celia stated, as if nothing had happened,

"Thats my favorite, the one your holding, I've always enjoyed the stories of the Dragon riders above all others. I don't suppose that they will ever return shall they?" She went and sat down in one of the chairs, unaware that Murtagh was looking at her with a weird look in his eyes. Her last comment brought back very unpleasant memories of a dinner with the king and a promise he had stupidly made under the effects of pretty words about helping the king rebuild the Empire, and bring back the Dragon Riders.

"I would hope not." He replied as he sat in the other chair opposite Celia.

"Why ever not?" exclaimed Celia surprise. She set down the piece of bread she had be holding, and looked at Murtagh piercingly.

"Well, what good would it do? Galbatorix would control them, so in the end it be a disaster."

"Not all of them would succumb to Galbatorix. Don't get me wrong! I would never want anything like the thirteen forsworn to return. I detest the thought of the forsworn, and would never wish for anything, or anyone like them to return. I have rather unpleasant memories about the Forsworn, and if anything like them were to ever return then I would be among the first to fight them." Murtagh listened silently as Celia spoke, trying hard not to think of what Celia would say if she found out of his parentage.

"But I have ranted and it is impolite," Celia continued. "Please, you seem to have an interest in books and horses, my two favorite subjects. Tell me how you came by these books." Murtagh sat there a few minutes, feeling slightly panicked, because he knew he couldn't answer the question without lying, so he said, "Oh I come by them in my travels, but where did you receive this books?"

"I see, well you must have had an interesting life if you traveled. I got these books from the merchants when they came through."

Murtagh had a pleasant time talking with Celia. After several months if being on his own he found the company of another human, and especially one who shared the same interests as him, pleasant. He could quite honestly say he had never met a girl quite like Celia, but it wasn't like he had met a lot of girls to compare her with, all he knew was that being with her made him feel strangely happy.

Before either of them knew it the moon was over head, and they could barley keep their eyes open, or stop yawning. So after bidding him good night Celia climbed onto the bed mat pulling the blankets over her, and was soon asleep. Murtagh quickly fallowed suit across the fire on the other mat.


End file.
